Just One of Those Nights
by mr.flamingo-gal
Summary: How can you satisfy a hunger when you don't know what you're hungry for?


Again he couldn't sleep. All night he tossed and he turned, horrible dreams dancing through his mind, tormenting him, no matter how he tried to fend them off. The unceasing mental warfare was enough to make him an insomniac. Not sleeping is better than having nightmares, he reasoned, so he lay awake every night, staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom in his small flat. Sometimes he would just read obsessively all night, sometimes he'd flip through old scrapbooks, reminiscing about the good times and the bad times. How innocent he had been, a small little bespectacled boy with a scar that had decided his destiny so long ago.   
  
Every night he would decide that he couldn't take living in his own mind any more. This night wasn't any different. He slipped silently out of bed. The soft moonlight flooded his room with an otherworldly light, and cast long shadows on the walls. The walls were so bare, so empty. He was all alone in his flat. Always in his own little world. Long ago he had decided that he wanted to be alone. It was better not to be a burden, he decided, and he liked having quiet time, and not having to worry about anyone but himself. Alone, but not always lonely.  
  
Quietly he slid his feet into his shoes and threw a jacket on over his pajamas. After turning off all of the lights and double checking the wards, he went on his nightly trek to the diner down the street. He was lucky that it was open twenty four hours. He was always so hungry, always, and he didn't know why and even in the middle of the night his hunger pangs would consume him. That's why he started making his way down to the diner every night. Their sign always flashing, the same waitresses every night, wearing the same outfit, with the same cheap lighting. It was nice to know that some things never changed. And besides, they had the best raspberry cheesecake on this side of London.  
  
  
  
He went in, heading toward his usual table in the corner where the lights were a little dimmer. The seat was coming apart, and the faux leather covering had several rips, but that was the least of his worries. The same as every night. He sat and one of the waitresses with the messy hair and bad eye makeup approached. "What'll it be?"  
  
  
  
"Two raspberry cheesecakes. With graham crackers."  
  
  
  
"Alright," she smacked, and whirled away.  
  
  
  
He looked around, waiting. His whole life was waiting. Waiting for friends, waiting for Voldemort, waiting for something to come along and make his life interesting. But he didn't mind waiting these nights in the diner. Some things in life are worth waiting for. The cheesecake came, but still he waited.   
  
  
  
The door banged open, the small tinny bell attached to the handle rattling. The tall thin man glided inside, as though walking was too lowly and common for him. His hair seemed too blond to be real, and his grey eyes were always so clouded over that they seemed black. He too sported pajamas and carpet slippers. His slipper clad feet immediately made their way to the small dingy table in the corner where the lights were just a little bit dimmer and plopped into the seat.  
  
"Hello Harry," he said flippantly, looking away.  
  
"Hi," Harry replied.  
  
It was an unspoken tradition. Every night the two young men met here, ever since they ran into each other two years ago, the year after graduation. There was always that hunger that came to them in the middle of the night, when they lay awake staring at the ceiling and waiting, waiting, but waiting for what? They never knew they lived two blocks away from each other, in small apartments, living out their lives in solitary confinement. They never knew they were so alike, but so different. They never knew each other, never took the time to find out that all they really needed was to be together, and then things didn't seem so bad.  
  
Malfoy stared out the window at the dark blue sky. Funny how things could change. If someone had told him three years ago that he would be spending every night with Potter, stuffing himself, he would have severely doubted their sanity. But they didn't fight anymore, it was past that now. People mature and get over things. Their rivalry seemed so childish and immature now, all of that squabbling over absolute nonsense. Now they didn't even talk. They understood. Conversation sometimes got in the way of things.  
  
  
  
Both were so confused. Everything and nothing made sense. So confused that they came every night to meet each other, not knowing why. It was more than eating. It was satisfying that insatiable hunger. They didn't like each other, but they understood each other, and that made a world of difference. So they ate in silence, every night, the one hour when they didn't have to think about what lay ahead and what happened in the past and how everything seemed so dark sometimes. 


End file.
